It's turtles all the way down, but, man, it's kittens all the way up. Welcome to Night Vale.
Our top story today is the PTA Bake Sale from 4 until 8pm at Night Vale High School. There will be cakes, pies, cookies, and all sorts of desserts available, and the money goes to a great cause: funding for the Blood Space War. PTA officers Steve Carlsberg, Susan Willman, and Diane Crayton expect this to be the largest bake sale in more than a decade.
This is because the City Council, in cooperation with the Sheriff's Secret Police, in cooperation with a vague yet menacing government agency, in cooperation with the world government, in cooperation with the lizard-people wing of the Bilderberg Group, has mandated that all citizens participate in this spring's PTA Bake Sale.
A group of men in black suits wearing sunglasses and earpieces gathered around City Hall this morning to confirm this. "Perhaps bring some moist blueberry muffins," one of the mysterious men announced. "Or invisible pie," said another. "Oooh ooh! If you have one of those special pans that makes only brownie edges," said another, and each of the men squealed and clapped saying "Yes. Those are the best."
So head on down to the high school and buy and sell some tasty baked goods for a valiant cause. It’s illegal not to.
In related news, more than 200 soldiers died yesterday in the bloodiest battle yet of the ongoing Blood/Space War. Not all have been identified, but we have learned that Corporal Waymon Davis and Sergeant Yasmin Alfons, both residents of Night Vale, are believed to be among those killed.
Officials from Intergalactic Military Headquarters said no armistice is in sight, as they are not certain who they are fighting, what they are fighting for, and when the fighting is even happening. "Time is super relative man," said Senior Strategic Advisor Jamison Archibald. "Like [mouth noise: pkow] mind blowing how some of the people who are fighting this war haven't even been born yet. My head hurts just thinking about that. Spacetime. Can you even believe it? Just... wow." Archibald concluded.
Why are we fighting this war? And who is involved? And beyond bake sales and online crowdsourced donations, who is funding this conflict?
Over the next few weeks, I will do my best to try to answer some of these questions. But beware that these questions may have no answers, or worse, have answers that make no sense.
Today, we will start with what we know. We will start with the story of Eunomia.
Eunomia grew up on a farm. Her parents planted invisible corn. All day Eunomia would work the fields. This was the early 1800s so there were no gas-powered tractors or tillers or combines. Eunomia would plant each invisible corn seed one by one in long rows over several acres.
She enjoyed this work because she loved the fresh air, the insects and the birds. And at dusk, her favorite moment, the stars would come out. During the late summer she would lie down in the corn fields, hidden among the tall, invisible stalks of majestic corn, and she thought of all of the possible worlds beyond this one. Eventually her mother would call her home for dinner, and the next day Eunomia would dream about those worlds while culling the ripened corn, anxiously awaiting the disappearance of the sun so she could comprehend the infinite possibilities of a life that was not this one.
On her 17th birthday, Eunomia went out to the cornfield but never returned. When her parents went to look for her, they found a large, perfectly round clearing. There was no corn in this circle, only flat dirt, Eunomia's packed lunch (uneaten), her diary, her tools, and the clothing she had worn that morning, the last time anyone saw her.
In the 1980s, librarians at the Night Vale Public Library found Eunomia's diary, which historians had long thought to be either lost or legend. The Librarians said they found it underneath the second-floor Dr Pepper machine. A bibliophile or historian must have hidden behind the vending machine trying to escape hungry librarians, but left the artifact behind when that person either escaped or was eaten.
The librarians who found the book placed it on display in a new exhibit called "Early Night Vale Life: Quotidien Scrawlings of Delicious Mortals."
It took many years of armed expeditions into the public library and cost many lives for historians to read this entire diary, but their brave efforts eventually paid off, as most of the diary has been transcribed or photographed.
Here are a few sample entries from Eunomia's journal:
July 15, 1815 - The star I have named Wolfgang has moved from its constellation. I believe it to be an artificial vessel. I shall send it a message somehow.
August 1, 1815 - Wolfgang has grown larger and now changes colors. Tonight it is azure. Last night it was turquoise. I predict it has seen our Earth.
September 4, 1815 - Tonight I have carved a message into the corn. It is not in English, but in patterns: concentric circles connected by sharp, angular lines. I have carved this message quite large. I do hope it is legible. Tomorrow morning I shall find out.
And just below this entry, Eunomia had sketched this cornfield pattern into her diary.
Her final entry was on September 5 - “A man with a mirror for a face has come for me. He does not speak. Farewell.”
More on the story of Eunomia in a moment, but first breaking news from City Hall.
Pamela Winchell, the city's director of Emergency Press Conferences called an emergency press conference to announce, and I quote "Some crazy-blank bullblank is going down over here y'all. Hoooo-llleeee blank" she added.
Winchell was standing near a cornfield, on the property of John Peters, you know the farmer? She was covering her mouth with one hand and pointing with the other while jumping up and down.
Winchell said: "Y'all have to see this mess, but also like don't come anywhere near here. No way. But still like, it's kind of beautiful with all the lights and stuff. You really have to see it, but you can't. Don't. Definitely don't come out here. Nothing to see" she said firmly, only to continue "Coooool! Oh blank that's rad."
City Council quickly ushered Winchell away from the microphone and said that they have formed a Secret Exploratory Committee to investigate the lights coming from John Peters' land.
More on this story as it develops.
For weeks after Eunomia disappeared, townsfolk mourned the loss of a young and vibrant girl. The city declared her dead, and her church held a public funeral service.
Her mother spoke about Eunomia's vivid imagination and penchant for drawing and painting. Her father, through halting sobs, said Eunomia was a smart girl who loved astronomy and physics.
The crowd gasped at this. Some of the congregation vocally protested, saying he should not be accusing the dead of paganism.
Eunomia's father calmed them, and said "Science is not a fringe religion. Eunomia taught me this. She wrote about the movement of stars and planets every day. She dreamed of a time that human beings could leave this gravity and travel into deepest space. I too thought science was Satan's checker board. But now, thanks to my dear daughter. I think science...is neat.”
The congregation grumbled, but ultimately accepted that a grief-stricken parent must be given room for the madness of sorrow.
The people of Night Vale moved forward with their lives. Like all tragic loss, they remembered Eunomia, sometimes even seeing her, only to realize it was a shadow or a mistake of the mind. They felt sad, and empty. But over time, the sadness waned and the emptiness filled, as they always do.
Her parents sold the farm and moved into the city. Consciously they wanted to be closer to their community, but subconsciously they feared having to endure the weight of public empathy, so they mostly stayed indoors.
One year after Eunomia's physical disappearance, the memory of Eunomia had all but disappeared as well. Night Vale was back to normal. No one was thinking about Eunomia that day, that anniversary. They were thinking about something else. The visitor.
More on this soon, but first traffic.
Cristina and Ricardo Alfons had just exited Route 800 toward Pike Street, where they planned to turn left toward the hospital. Ricardo was driving quickly, as Cristina was in immense discomfort. She was 8 months pregnant when contractions began only half an hour ago.
Fearing the complications of an early birth, Cristina did not outwardly panic. She inwardly panicked. She grew quiet and still, as her body began to convulse and her guts began to churn. She turned to her husband and calmly stated "Ricky, the baby's coming."
Ricardo, having read nearly a dozen books (including The Physiology of Pregnancy, The Psychology of Infancy, and The Ontology of Relevancy) felt prepared for even this most unexpected of moments. Inwardly he did not panic. Outwardly, he was a blubbering mess.
He rushed his wife into the car and on to the hospital, going well over the speed limit, asking Cristina if she was remembering to breathe. Cristina repeatedly asked Ricardo to slow down and confirmed she was breathing.
A minor accident between a top secret military transport truck and a 2011 Honda CRV along Route 800 near exit 12 had slowed the couple down by a few minutes. And during that traffic jam, Cristina turned on the radio to take her mind off of her body.
She heard a news update about the Blood Space War, and the tragic deaths of two Night Vale soldiers, one of whom was named Yasmin Alfons. Cristina and Ricardo Alfons knew they were expecting a girl. They knew they would name her Yasmin, because it is a beautiful name.
Ricardo laughed at the dark humor of the improbable coincidence, but Cristina neither laughed nor believed it to be a coincidence.
They arrived at the hospital with plenty of time to spare, and 3 hours later, their daughter Yasmin was born. Cristina had decided to give her a different name, but when the nurse who was filling out the birth certificate asked, Cristina said "Yasmin," as she was unable to say anything else. It was like that moment had already happened, and she was only remembering it.
So, expect 15 minute delays on Eastbound lanes of Route 800, near Exit 12.
This has been traffic.
On the anniversary of Eunomia's disappearance, an astronaut arrived in Night Vale. The early 19th Century villagers did not know what an astronaut was, so what they saw was a puffy silver humanoid with a mirror for a face.
The astronaut suddenly appeared in the center of town, roughly where the Dog Park is today and walked silently through the dusty streets. Crowds gathered and followed the stranger, all the while pointing and warmly shouting "Interloper!" in hopes that the frightening figure would show signs of benevolence.
The astronaut, bowlegged and slow, walked without speaking toward the outskirts of town. It took hours, and by the time the visitor stopped, nearly the entire city had followed.
There was a greenish aura about the astronaut as they turned to face the gathered mob. The astronaut lifted their gloved hands to their neck and unlatched the helmet. There was a loud hiss and a pop, and the mask lifted.
The crowd approached tentatively the stranger, and as the helmet came fully off, the townsfolk cried out in horror. The face of the visitor was nearly skeletal, a rotted corpse. Long white hair peeling down the back of the skull. An incomplete set of elongated teeth visible with no lips to hide them. Startled eyes ever-staring with no lids to express anything else. And what was left of the skin had shriveled and yellowed.
The crowd had begun to step backward, but one woman stepped forward. A tired and pale woman approached the decomposing astronaut and said "Eunomia."
The astronaut opened her mouth slowly and spoke in a hoarse cough. "Mother," the astronaut said. Eunomia's young mother touched her elderly daughter's face. Eunomia broke into dust, and the empty space suit collapsed to the ground.
More news, but first, the weather.
["The Only Thing" by Ali Holder]
Dozens of astronauts appeared in Night Vale over the centuries that followed. They still occasionally do. But it has been 36 years since the last appearance. These astronauts are time travelers of sorts. They are Night Vale citizens who fight for humanity in the Blood Space War, but are returning home to recruit or retire.
Those who have returned from battle have told us about Eunomia, about her incredible leadership and diplomacy. Her death, in the timeline of those fighting this war, has yet to occur, but in our earthly timeline she died 200 years ago in a cornfield.
There is so much more to say about Eunomia, and the beginnings of the Blood Space War, but we cannot cover that all here. It is much too complicated a story. Plus, an empty-eyed messenger child from the City Council just showed up at my radio studio to tell me to get to the important news of the day.
Thank you, child. Here's an iPad. Go play on Tiktok and stop staring at me. I'm really creeped out.
The City Council organized a press conference this afternoon, but before it could begin, Pamela Winchell grabbed the microphone from the City Council and shouted "Surprise Emergency Press Conference! Hey, so a space craft flew down into John Peters's cornfield and these beings of astonishing structure emerged with two floating pods, and inside those pods were dead bodies. It was sad but also the bodies looked pretty old, so maybe it was just their time. Sometimes that happens, you know. Actually it always happens. No one has ever not died. Anyway, if you've lost an elderly friend or relative, maybe come identify the bodies. Sorry for your loss."
Winchell then reached up to her hairline and pulled down a zipper that ran from her head to her waist. As she opened herself, a Pamela-shaped cloud drifted up and away over the crowd. A faint voice saying "Pamela out!" could be heard in the sky.
Several Night Vale residents came to view the bodies. One body was identified as Waymon Davis by his great-great-grandson, Melvin. Melvin brought a daguerreotype photo of Waymon from 1890. In the photo Waymon was 33 years old. The body Melvin identified looked to be in his 60s, but it was clearly Waymon.
Cristina Alfons, holding her newborn baby in her hospital bed, saw the footage on television. When she saw the other body, she saw a woman in her 70s with Yasmin's eyes, Yasmin's lips, and even the same thick, low forehead.
Cristina held her baby tight to her chest.
"You were a brave woman," she said to the infant Yasmin as she kissed her tiny cheeks.
Stay tuned next for the sound of an alarm clock that cannot be turned off and a dream that cannot be awoken from.
Good night, Night Vale. Good night.
Today’s proverb: Talk to your kids about the birds and the bees. "Never look directly at birds," you should say to them. "And bees. Don't get me started."
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